


Free! Iwatobi Fight Club

by akiiteru



Category: Free!
Genre: Drug Abuse, Fight Club - Freeform, Free! - Freeform, Haru is the narrator, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Nagisa is slightly less minor, One-Sided Matsuoka Rin/Nanase Haruka, One-Sided Tachibana Makoto/Nanase Haruka, Rei and Kou are pretty minor, attempted suicide, this may or may not be extremely confusing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akiiteru/pseuds/akiiteru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s how I came to meet Rin Matsuoka. In the midst of a cramped airplane, smelling of burnt peanuts and sweat. I figured that he’d be either extremely detrimental or extremely beneficial to my life. </p><p>Oh, how right I was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing that notified me of the change in my life was my insomnia. Hours of peaceful sleep became fretful tossing and the sharp pain of headaches. I started drinking warm milk before bed. All it did was make my stomach hurt as badly as my head. 

The second change was the support groups. The school guidance counselor recommended them to me, saying that they would teach me what "real pain" was like. 

The groups were full of teenagers just like me, except their lives were going to be cut short by some horrible disease with a name I couldn't remember. 

I met Nagisa at the hypoglycemia awareness group that met at the library on Thursdays. He was short and skinny as a toothpick, despite the fact that every time I saw him he was eating potato chips. He probably ate five bags of Lays a day. 

Nagisa’s eyes were an odd pink color, eyelids rimmed with purple like he had two permanent black eyes. His knees and elbows were always flared up bright red, and he was so remarkably skinny that you could see his bones move under his flaky skin. 

It turned out he had Addison's disease. The extent of my knowledge about it was that it affected the adrenal cortex; at least, that was what Nagisa said, always regurgitating the same words. "I have a rare and progressive disorder that makes it difficult for my body to produce glucocorticoid and cortisol."

 

In the hypoglycemia awareness group, we held each other. That's it. Introductions, hugging, crying, and then we left. 

Pick a partner, soak their shirt through with your tears, go out on the street. Suck it up. Stop the waterworks when you step out the creaky library doors. 

 

Nagisa cried a lot. He held me with his skinny arms, rubbing his bony fingers against my spine. Complained that he was always thirsty, even while he was gulping down water. Shoved potato chips in his hollow cheeks, sobbing.

I went home that night and slept like a baby. 

 

After hypoglycemia, I went to the molluscum contagiosum support group. Then metabolic syndrome, glomerulonephritis, and celiac disease. The more groups I went to, the better I slept, and the more friends I made.

Kou from Psoriasis Alliance desperately wanted a boyfriend. She said that people were disgusted by her scaly, red skin and refused to give her a chance. Her eyes flitted across the room, settling on me a few times more than it was necessary.

Rei, who had Guillain-Barré syndrome, wanted to go to college. While I pushed his wheelchair out into the parking lot to wait for the hospital bus, he told me about his studies in engineering. He showed me the lever he installed on the arm of his wheelchair that he could push with his elbow to go forward, since he had no feeling in his hands anymore.

I asked him to remember the little people like me when he was working with the president on some genius invention to save the world.

Everything was great for a short while. Then I met Makoto.

\- - -

He showed up at hypoglycemia group, wasting his breath on the thick smoke of a cigarette. 

Faker. 

Nobody with hypoglycemia or Addison's disease would throw away their life with a fucking _cigarette_.

Makoto showed up at chronic asthma support on Monday. Then sickle cell anemia. Then inflammatory bowel disease. I started seeing him every day, puffing on those goddamn cigarettes. I wondered how he obtained them. He certainly didn't look eighteen to me. 

 

Makoto was seventeen. We paired up for some reason at our atrial septal defect group. He didn't cry, he just calmly told me his full name (Makoto L. Tachibana), age, and his reason for being there. 

He wanted to kill himself. 

His therapist told him to go to a group therapy session for suicidal teens, but he ended up at hypoglycemia and stayed. 

He said it made him feel better about himself. 

Then he smiled, and asked me why I was there, since I looked healthy enough. 

What a piece of shit.

 

\- - -

 

Though Makoto was like a bloated tumor slapped on my brain that I couldn't get off, I still had responsibilities. I was the best swimmer at my school, and I couldn't sit out from nationals even if I was dying of second-hand smoke. 

I boarded the plane to North Carolina, hoping it would crash and kill me in a fiery blaze. 

 

I survived. The first place medal hanging around my neck made my head sag from the weight of it, and on the flight home I kept bumping my temple against the guy sitting next to me. 

He turned his head suddenly, and I flinched. I expected a slap, or maybe just a stream of swear words. 

All he said was "Congrats," eyeing the medal resting against my chest. I zipped up my windbreaker to cover the glinting metal. 

A grin spread across the man's face, revealing pearly white teeth that tapered into points. 

He looked like a shark.

"Come on, don't be shy."

I wasn't shy. I just didn't like attention. 

Shark Guy's grin melted.

"Are you going to respond, or are you another one of those empty-headed pretty-boys?"

_Pretty._

He thought I was pretty.

"I'm not empty-headed," I muttered finally.

"Ah," he sighed. "I was about to think you were mute. My name's Rin Matsuoka, what's yours?"

I glared at Rin Matsuoka. "Why are you talking to me?"

His teeth glistened. "I'm bored, you're cute, and we've got another three hours to waste on this flying hunk of metal. Why not?"

I continued to glare at him.

_Cute._

The flight attendant stopped beside me and asked if I would like any complimentary peanuts. I politely said no. 

Rin opened his mouth to say yes, he would like some peanuts, but the flight attendant marched away down the aisle, teetering on her stiletto heels.

“So,” Rin began, running his tongue across his bottom lip. “What do you do?”

“I’m in high school. I swim,” I replied. 

Rin grimaced. “Shit, you’re young.”

He had the wrong idea. I didn’t want him to think that I was some stupid kid.

“Not mentally.”

He chuckled. “Woah there, what’s that supposed to mean? If you’re coming on to me-”

“I’m not.”

“I like you, kid,” Rin said with a toothy smile. “We have to keep in touch.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but nevertheless I scribbled out my cell phone number on a gum wrapper I fished out of my pocket and shoved it into his hands. 

He folded it neatly, flashing those damned teeth at me yet again. “You’re eager, huh?”

“You’re disgusting.”

That’s how I came to meet Rin Matsuoka. In the midst of a cramped airplane, smelling of burnt peanuts and sweat. I figured that he’d be either extremely detrimental or extremely beneficial to my life. 

Oh, how right I was.


	2. Chapter 2

I got off of the plane with the other members of my swim team, clutching a slip of paper with Rin’s phone number scrawled across it. 

Home was only a bus and cab ride away. I was looking forward to the comfort of IKEA furniture and television, and the hot tub it cost five thousand dollars to install on the back deck. My parents were across the country taking care of my ill grandmother, so I had a couple weeks to myself. Alone in my huge, brightly painted house, that was standing before I boarded my flight to North Carolina but was now a pile of rubble and skeletons of deluxe couches. 

The taxi driver didn’t even make me pay, he just threw me out and drove away as quickly as possible, swerving around a police car. 

The only thing intact was the hot tub, surrounded by smoldering pieces of the deck. 

Shit, I had to tell my parents. 

But first, I needed a place to sit and calm down. The flashes of emergency lights surrounding my house were giving me a migrane. 

 

One phone call later, I was sitting across from Rin in a restaurant booth, a large pizza between us. 

“Glad you could rely on me,” he said with a smirk. 

I asked him to stop being so fucking pretentious, and could he please let me crash at his house because mine was reduced to piles of ash and scrap metal?

The bastard accepted my request in a heartbeat. 

 

On our way out from the restaurant, Rin stopped me beside a particularly disgusting-smelling dumpster. Pinching my nose, I gave him a quizzical look.

“Hit me.”

That’s all he said; two words. I shook my head.

“What are you, a wuss?”

I calmly told him that I didn’t want to hurt my knuckles.

Rin’s lips curled into a smirk. “Suck it up and punch me. Right in my fucking face. Do it. Now.”

I sighed, stared at my feet, and let my fist fly. It connected with his chin, and I cringed. Rin, on the other hand, let out a breathy laugh. 

“Nice one,” he muttered, a few tears dripping from his eyes. “I expected you to be weak, but that was…” He whistled. “Impressive.”

Without warning, his sharp knuckles cracked against my cheek. I was down for the count. My back collided with the cool metal of the dumpster, and I slid to the ground. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I panted.

He held his hand out to help me up. “You can’t expect to hit me and just get off scot-free.”

Asshole.

\- - -

Rin Matsuoka’s house was a dump. The lights barely worked, the faucets didn’t work at all, and the walls were stained from unfortunate toilet explosions and the like. But it was all I had until my parents got home. They knew, by then, about the explosion, and only agreed to stay with my grandmother a bit longer when I assured them that I was all right.

Rin worked as a lifeguard. He told me all of the perks of the job; he could sneak into the pool at night and skinny dip, or he could add just a little bit too much cleaning powder to the water and give everyone who swam in it a horrible rash. I had to applaud his bravery.

Life in Rin Matsuoka’s house was laid-back. There were no chores to do, just eating and sleeping and showing up to odd jobs when we felt like it. We worked at the public pool, convenience store, and run-down Chinese takeout place that attracted more homeless people than dinner guests. We found a way to cause trouble everywhere we went. Spitting in egg drop soup, selling empty cartons of cigarettes, locking people in locker rooms; it was all fair game.

We also continued to fight. Something about beating Rin to the ground, and in turn being beaten by him, made me feel so alive. 

I also started sleeping a full eight hours again. 

 

Our scuffling in parking lots and alleyways attracted a lot of attention. Soon enough, there were three other guys who showed up behind the pizza place to fight. Those three became five, then ten, then twenty men and teenagers beating each other senseless for no obvious reason. 

Rin and I had control. When we fought, nobody could take their eyes off of us. Some laughed nervously, some looked downright terrified. But when the fight was over, all of them cheered. 

Soon enough, we had too many people to fight in the parking lot and started meeting at the bottom level of an unused parking garage. It was owned by some rich businessman whose company failed, but he never tore down the parking garage and now it was ours.

 

We had to have rules. 

Rin made the rules, of course. The “fight club” was his idea, and he was in control of it. So, one Saturday night, he stood in front of the hundred-or-so men gathered and told them his rules. 

“The first rule of Fight Club,” he drawled, “is you don’t talk about fight club. The second rule of fight club, is you _do not_ talk about Fight Club.”

I nodded enthusiastically. Rin was the rightful leader of the club.

“If someone says ‘stop,’ goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.”

More nodding.

“Two guys to a fight. One fight at a time. No shirts, no shoes.”

A few shirts were ripped off and thrown aside.

“Fights will go on as long as they have to.”

_Yes._

“If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.”

A roar of approval came from the gathered men. 

This was our Fight Club.


	3. Chapter 3

Only a couple weeks went by before I started seeing people on the street with black eyes and broken noses. A boy about my age at the public pool with bandages across his hands held them up for a fist bump. A man buying five boxes of condoms at the convenience store winked at me before hobbling out the door, his ankle in a thick cast. 

Fight Club was changing the generation.

The more we fought, the less Rin and I cared about work. We fell asleep on the job nearly every day, prompting more complaints than I could count. 

I got into a fight with my boss at the convenience store and was promptly fired. On my way out, I knocked a magazine rack to the floor and stomped my muddy boots over the outdated issues of _People_ and _Maxim_. The manager couldn’t do a thing but scowl and curse at me.

I went in the next day to buy cigarettes with the counterfeit money I borrowed from Rin. 

The store manager showed up at Fight Club a week later.

 

Those blissful weeks with Rin made me forget about the awful mess that used to be my life, but I was quickly reminded of it by a single phone call. 

Makoto was babbling senselessly into my ear through the phone that I had, regrettably, picked up. I caught only a few words; “depressed,” “pills,” and “overdose.” They were enough to thoroughly disturb me and make me hang up with shaking hands. 

I already knew that I wouldn’t sleep at all that night.

 

I tried anyway. My head hit the flat pillow and I let my thoughts begin to flow through my mind. 

An image of Makoto, grey-faced and dying, flashed in front of my eyes and stayed there. I blinked and rubbed my face and clawed at my eyes, but it was burned into my vision. He looked sickly, and I started to hear his weak voice saying my name. 

But no, it wasn’t my name. Makoto’s thin voice wailed out “Rin, Rin, _Rin_!” until I was forced to stuff my ears with the fluff spilling out of a rip in my pillow. Somewhere in the house, a bed was creaking. 

Somehow, I fell asleep, with my ears stuffed full of cotton and my eyes squeezed shut.

 

_“Oh god, don’t stop, please-”_

_Makoto’s hipbones are sharp against my palms. Mouth agape, he begs me to keep going, and I comply. He rocks against me, moaning softly._

_The bed creaks angrily. He’s whining now, pleading with me to let him finish. He sounds like a child, and suddenly I feel like a huge pervert._

_He yelps. The name that escapes his lips isn’t mine._

_My chest feels tight and painful, and I’m suddenly filled with anger._

 

I jolted awake, panting. Rin was grinning in the doorway.

“Guess who got lucky last night?”

_Me._

“You?” My voice sounded weak.

Rin’s smile made my stomach churn. “Yup. It was with a guy. A pretty hot one, at that. A little timid, though. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you know him, right?”

I gulped. “Makoto?”

“Right!” Rin drew out his words like he was taunting me. “That’s the name. He said that he used to be a swimmer. I’ve never been into swimming, but if he’s any proof, it makes for a great body. Does that apply to you?”

I was too pissed to acknowledge his flirtation. “Makoto isn’t yours to brag about.”

“I thought you hated the guy,” Rin teased. “So why do you care?”

I didn’t reply. It was too hard to explain that even though Makoto annoyed me, I felt like I had some sort of possession over him. _I_ knew him first. He loved _me_ first. Rin just waltzed in and took advantage of Makoto’s crippling loneliness.

My silence made Rin defensive. “Hey, now, his ass is _mine_. He may be drooling like an idiot over you, but you ignored him when he wanted to fucking die! I may be an asshole, but I’m not that much of an asshole.”

He stormed away and slammed the door behind him.

 

I needed to see Nagisa. Makoto had entered my life once again and sleep was unreachable, so I needed my bubbly, blond, hypoglycemic friend so that I could walk around without feeling like a zombie.

The unfortunate thing was, I had to make sure I didn’t see _a certain person_ there. That left only one option.

I got Makoto’s number from Rin. Each ring of the phone made dread heave in the pit of my stomach. Makoto finally answered, sounding simply awful. 

I cut to the chase. No introductions or greetings. My voice sounded more monotone than I meant it to, but that was something he could deal with.

“Are you going to the support group tonight?”

He nearly deafened me with a hacking cough right into the receiver. “No. I think I’m dying.”

I rolled my eyes. He went on to tell me that he took too much Ibuprofen and he was _positive_ that he’d die this time. 

I didn’t really care, but I pretended that I did to comfort him a bit in his alleged final hour.

Rin could cheer him up. As long as I was out of the house.

 

Nagisa cried the moment he saw me. 

“I missed you so much!” He screeched and hugged me tightly, nearly making me suffocate. When he let go of me and I got a good look at his face, my heart sank. The skin around his eyes had darkened significantly, and his smile lacked enthusiasm. He saw the worry in my face and mirrored it in his own. 

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, and asked him to fill me in on what had happened when I was gone.

Nagisa’s smile returned. “Gou- uh, I mean Kou- got a boyfriend. I haven’t met him, but apparently he’s really nice. He swims, just like you do! And Rei-”

His face fell. “Rei got accepted into MIT. But he had to be hospitalized, and apparently he’s on a ventilator and he can’t go to college right now.”

I gave Nagisa a hug before he started to cry again. I didn’t bother telling him about how shitty my life had been, since he was a sensitive guy and upsetting him was the last thing I wanted to do. 

 

I slept well after the support group that night. My sleep was riddled with dreams of Makoto.

Makoto on my bed. Makoto moaning. 

Makoto’s hips. Makoto’s dick. Makoto’s face twisted with pleasure.

Makoto’s goddamn cigarettes.


End file.
